The Bad Wolf Returns
by RJRelentless
Summary: This story is going to be a series of situations where Rose might have returned in Season 3 and 4. I'm currently working on the first Arc which is Human Nature and The Family of Blood, but there will be plenty more after that, I hope. Reviews, requests and idea's are always very welcome.
1. Chapter 1

John Smith sat in his quiet, lonely office, drawing what he could remember of his strange and exciting dreams. Finishing off one of the heads of the terrifying metal men, the Evening Bell running through the school telling all students to get into their cold beds. John looked out of the window, the glowing stars glittering in front of the pitch black background. He gave a small smile as he looked down at his drawings. He was quite fond of the stars. He knew the names of many and often went stargazing just over the field. His fellow professors never truly understood his unusual interest, but he paid them no mind.

He'd been working at Farringham School for Boys for a month now, finding he enjoyed the role as history professor and found happiness in sharing his knowledge with his students. Although he'd been slightly homesick for the first week or so after he'd arrived, his Housemaid, a delightful young woman named Martha who had served him and his family since he could remember, quickly made him feel at ease again. It was nice having someone around to help.

There was a shy knock at the door, a middle aged woman walking into the room with a tray in her arms. He recognised the woman nearly immediately… Jenny? She was often seen with Martha whether it was during daytime chores or afternoon lunch. It didn't take a mastermind to see they were close friends. "Evenin', Mister Smith," she greeted tiredly.

John smiled at her as she dropped the tray down on his desk, which carried a teapot and a cup. "Where's Martha?" he asked as Jenny took a teaspoon from her apron, no room for it on the tray.

"She went out not too long ago, Sir," Jenny replied, placing the spoon on his desk. "Requested by the Headmaster that she go to the near farm next town over to make sure they had flour in for the school by the end of the week. She'll be back within the next half hour, Sir."

John frowned as he poured the tea into his small mug. "It would have been considerate for the Headmaster to ask my permission before using my Housemaid," he retorted, nearly coldly. It wasn't polite for the Headmaster to be using his property as he was. "Is he still awake?"

"Oh, I wouldn't advise paying him a visit, Sir," Jenny said with a face. "He's been in a foul mood the past few hours. Caught one of the students stealing bottles from the Wine Cellar. Been giving all the staff a difficult time since." With a curtsy, Jenny nodded. "G'night, Mister Smith," she said in farewell as she walked from the room.

John nodded, taking a small sip of his toasty tea. He knew better than to harass his superiors when they were in no mood. It was cheek anyway, asking the Headmaster not to use his Maid when he was the one practically placing the food on the table for her and keeping a roof over her head. He shook his head to himself. He had no right.

Placing the cup down, he heard a feminine voice scream from outside, "Mister Smith!"

'Martha!' he though as he rushed to the window, watching as she struggled toward the school, dragging a figure as she went. John grabbed his coat and hurried to the door, skipping steps as he went down the stairs. He walked through the narrow door; following two of his co-workers as he stepped out into the cold air, hastily walking to his young Maid and the figure she was dragging.

"I just found her," Martha explained vaguely as she set the woman down of the dry grass. "You know the sheds down there?" she pointed behind her to three small huts. "Found her there, jus' lying on the ground. Do you want me to go get Nurse Redfern? She's not waking up, and she's bleeding a lot and-"

"Martha!" John cut her off. "Calm down, please. First, I want you to go get Miss Redfern. Then, I want you to make yourself more presentable, okay?" he added, nodding to her red drenched hands. Giving a weak nod, she hurried to the school, Jenny and few others of the staff following her as they littered her with questions.

John and one of the other school professors looked down at the young, red-headed woman on the ground. Most of her face was covered in a claret shade, making it difficult to she her face, but the deep, long gash on the side of her cheek, which was spread down to half her neck, was very noticeable, making John wonder if the woman really had red hair or not. "Interesting clothes she's wearing," said one of the male Professors, Mister Walsh. "I must say, I've never seen a woman wear trousers before."

John nodded in agreement. Trousers were not appropriate women wear, but then again, that wasn't the first thing that came to his mind. A strange woman was dragged here by his Housemaid, covered in blood and unconscious, and typically, the first thing Mister Walsh though of was her clothing. Not her safety, whether she was alive or not, or not even where she came from, which were the exact questions that twittered around in John's mind.

A few minutes later, the windows were showing the figures of many young men in their nightwear as Nurse Redfern walked onto the scene, growing pale quickly at the sight before her. "Get her to my quarters," she ordered quickly, two of the staff members picking the limp woman up cautiously, scared of getting the woman's red colour on their clothes. As she was dragged off, John quickly noticed a large black sack onto the woman's back, which was muddy and wet. Wherever this woman had been, it mustn't have been a pleasant errand.

Mister Smith was told he would no longer help and that he'd best return to his bedroom. Not that he'd be able to sleep. Instead, he ushered the young students back to their rooms, telling them their curiosity would have to wait, like his, he added to himself.

He saw Martha not too long after, in a set of new staff clothes and clean hands. "Are you okay?" he asked as soon as he saw her.

"I'm fine, Mister Smith," she assured. "Just a lil' bit shaken, is all." She looked around his office and began to gather the now empty teapot and cup, placing them back on the tray. "And before you ask, Sir, no. I don't have any idea how she is or where she came from. I just found her. Nurse Redfurn said she's likely to be up and about by tomorrow. G'night, Mister Smith," she said in finality. Nodding his goodnight, he slipped out of his coat, which he clumsily threw on the armchair. Quietly, he dressed into his nightwear, crawling under the covers when the cold air hit what skin it could.

_**A.N: Thought I'd try something new and get away from my other story for the time being. I've been meaning to do this for a while, but never got round to doing it. This Fanfic is basically going to be about situations where Rose might have returned to the Doctor in Season 3 and 4. I don't know how often I'll be updating this, but my head it buzzing with idea's at the moment. Any idea's and requests will be taken. Also, this Fic has nothing to do with my 'Cub' series, this is completely different with no AU characters. Hope you enjoyed :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, John was rather keen to get downstairs. Unlike the rest of the school, he'd gotten a fair amount of sleep, but even then, his dreams were plagued by the mystery woman. Well, not the mystery woman per say. She had been appearing in his dreams for a while now, imposing as a young, beautiful woman named Rose Tyler. John had been drawing whatever he could remember from his strange dreams in his small journal, nearly every one of the used pages inhabiting an image of the young adventurer.

Walking down the stairs stiffly, he kindly greeted his fellow Professors and passing students, quickly running into the Headmaster as he appeared from his study. "Ah, Mister Smith!" he called as he walked toward his employee.

"Headmaster," John greeted, turning around to face his superior. What did he want _now_?

"I'm afraid Mister Spilling has been rather ill of late," the Headmaster explained vaguely. "The Matron claims he is in dire need of a doctor and left early this morning. Would you save me the bother of conducting his lesson?"

John knew Mister Spilling quite well. He was in charge of teaching the boys the ways of combat; taught them to fire a gun and such like. John himself had never really been awfully fond of guns and had no desire to teach young men how to use them, but sadly, orders were orders. With a nod and a goodbye, John turned back, walking away from the Headmaster, catching a hint of golden hair out of the corner of his eye as he did so.

* * *

After his small lesson his a majority of the young men, John walked toward his study, ready to take his robes off and change into something more comfortable. There was a small sob from the corner of the hallway, John noticing the small figure of one of the younger boys. "Banks?" he asked as the small boy looked up with claret eyes. He stifled a sniffle, then went back to crying. "What's wrong, old boy?" he asked as he trenched to his student. He was actually rather fond of the small boy, but never had John seen him in such a state. After much coaxing, John noticed a large shred down the side of the youngsters trouser leg, a small pool of blood behind him.

Helping him up, John placed his hand on the back of Banks' back as he limped through the hallway. "Let's get you to the Nurse, shall we?"

Soon after Toby Banks had told his Professor what had occurred with one of the older pupils, however not uttering the name of whom it was, they reached Nurse Redfurn's quarters, John knocking on the door calmly. They waited for a few brief moment, the sound of the Matron's voice coming to the door. "Oh, Lord, if I have one more person knocking on my door-" the door swung open, revealing Nurse Redfurn. She calmed down at the sight of John, giving a shy smile. "Mister Smith," she greeted, not noticing the small boy. "May I help you?"

"Well, certainly not me, but you might be able to help Mister Banks here," he gestured the small boy, who stood shyly by him. "Rather nasty injury along his calf, I'm afraid." Nurse Redfurn looked down at the young boy, hastily taking note of the red liquid. She ushered them both in, muttering to them, "After last night, I feel quite ill at the sight of blood."

"Well, I'm sorry to say you'll be seeing a little bit more," John said regretfully, looking around the room. "Speaking of which, Matron, where is the young lady?" The Nurse helped Toby into a chair, nodding to the desk near the far end of the room, a young woman sitting near a window. She'd looked considerably different since the last time he saw her. Her blonde hair glowed in the sunlight, the ends of her hair sparkling a died red. Her brown eyes looked down at the strange objects in front of her, her fingers flittering across the rim of each piece of parchment with people smiling on them. Whoever had drawn these was exceedingly skilled as they looked almost nothing like sketches. The bag she was wearing the previous night still wore its muddy coat as it lay on the desk, bits and pieces just about noticeable from a close distance.

John peered over her shoulder as Nurse Redfern tended to Toby, watching as she looked intensely at a drawing of her and a dark skinned male, her arms slung around his shoulder. They were in some sort of office, a large 'T' stained on the window. The pair were smiling at the artist, a man in the background looking as if he were walking toward them. "Whoever drew that must have some talent," John commented, making the young woman jump. John frowned when he looked at her face completely. She looked familiar, _very _familiar. However, the ugly, red mark that ran from her cheek to her neck made him grimace. A face as... well, truth be told, _beautiful _as hers shouldn't have been tainted the way it had been.

"I s'pose," the woman said, giving him a smile as she looked back at her bag as John took note of her accent. She pulled out a concealed envelope which she curiously opened, taking the white parchment out and scanning through the text.

"I'm John," he greeted, extending his hand, which she shyly shook. "You're from London, aren't you?"

"I must be," she shrugged. She held up a few other envelopes, which had all been emptied. "Letters to Marion Tyler, London, Powell Estate, found in the bag I was carrying. And this," she added, taking some sort of strange necklace from around her throat. It looked like a beaded chain, a silver tag at the bottom which 'Marion Tyler, 3475' was carved into in great detail and no errors. She gave him an awkward smile, looking back down at the drawings.

John got a strange feeling about the young woman as her hair surrounded her face, framing it as if she were from above the Heavens. He'd never such a beautiful woman before. Well, maybe besides his mother. Her eyes looked around the drawing as if trying to place her finger on something, but couldn't. Sighing, she looked back up at him and found he was staring at her. He looked away quickly when both realised what he was doing, John snapping up from his seat as he placed his clammy hands behind his robes. "Lovely to meet you, Miss Tyler," he said in farewell, walking back towards Toby.

This time, it was Marion's turn to grimace as she replied, "Please don't call be Miss Tyler, Sir. It sounds way too formal for me. Just Marion, yeah?" she requested. He gave her another smile, nodding his head. "In that case; it was lovely to meet you, Marion."

**_A.N: Just because I got awesome feedback from you guys, I updated :)_**


	3. Chapter 3

A month had passed since John had become acquainted with one Miss Marion Tyler. The disturbing way she had appeared seemed to evaporate from his memory as he spent more time with her, and he quickly found out he loved her company, _especially _as she shared his interest in stargazing. Even though she didn't know many names of the infant suns, he shortly remedied that predicament when he took her to his stargazing sight, where they stayed for hours as he picked out star after star, watching as she marvelled at the name of each.

As Marion couldn't remember anything from before she arrived, the Headmaster placed her in the Library, complaining it wasn't organised and that it should keep her occupied until any memories arose. That day forth, she was known as 'The Librarian', surprisingly not minding when few of the boys called her 'Miss Librarian'.

As the many days passed, he would always find himself taking long looks at her over the dining table as she made conversation with some of the other Professors, looking down suddenly when she'd catch him. He found his heart leaped into his throat whenever she walked into a room or even talked to him. John had never been the type to play with love. In fact, he was quite the hopeless romantic, but as the short month passed, he found himself diving deeper and deeper into the wonderful pit of infatuation. Her beauty was nothing like he'd seen before. Even the Goddess' bowed to her. Even her appearances in his strange dreams seemed to make him happier.

Even though he'd never felt it like this before, he was quite certain he was falling in love with the strange woman, and quite hastily.

He found himself taking daily journeys to the Library just to see her, as that was where she spent most of her time. He quickly found that another interest they both shared was reading, the two teasing in pointless banter on who was superior; Shakespeare or Dickins. Even though he believed he was visiting her so often she was beginning to feel irritated, it appeared she enjoyed spending time with him as much as he with her. She always smiled brightly whenever he entered the room, giving that tongue in the teeth smile he was beginning to love so dearly.

"_Another_ Shakespeare?" Marion criticised playfully. She stamped the book and closed it, sliding it to the front of the desk as he searched for another. "I will never understand your admiration for that man."

"That _genius_," John corrected as he grabbed another poetry book. "The man was a pure genius, and don't try to deny it," he scowled as he walked to the desk, handing her the book.

"Yeah, okay," Marion shrugged as she gave him the last book. "He was _alright_, but still not the best. Now, will I be getting these books back tomorrow, or will I have to hunt for them again?" she said in a nearly hopeful tone, John noted.

"Oh, yes," he nodded happily. "I mean," he scoffed gesturing the eight book stack in his arms. "This isn't a lot. I'll be finished with these by tomorrow morning, without a doubt," he told her as he smiled, turning around to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Marion."

"Good," she smiled back to him, looking down as she blushed slightly. She looked back up at him, her smile more gentle now. His mouth hanging open just slightly, he nodded. "Good," he agreed as he walked through the door, struggling to see where he was going. Had she just _flirted _with him? And he back to her? Well, his day had just brightened dramatically. He'd known he'd been developing feelings for the young woman since he'd first laid eyes upon her, but never did he think they would be reciprocated.

Walking through the hallway to his study, he was startled by a sudden, "Good morning, Mister Smith!" Jumping, he dropped the top book from the stack, trying to grasp it in vain as it fell clumsily to the floor. "Oh, there we go," he mumbled as he looked around the remaining of the stack to see Nurse Redfern.

She took the book from the ground, placing it back on top of the large pile. "Here you go, Mister Smith," she said, eying the books. "Shall I take half?"

"Urm, yes, here," he said, leaning down so she could take four of the books. "How was Jenkins?" he asked.

"Oh, just missing his mother," Nurse Redfern replied as she took hold of some of the books. "He received a letter from her this morning, so he's a lot more chipper. So, these books, are they being taken in any particular direction?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, as if remembering. He turned and gestured down the hallway. "This way," he said, ever the gentleman, letting her take the lead. "I always say, Matron, give the boys a good head of steam, they'll soon wear themselves out."

"Truth be told, when it's just you and me, I'd much rather you call me Nurse Redfurn," she claimed as they walked down a set of stairs. "'Matron' sounds rather...well, matronly. Though we've known each other all of two months, you could even say 'Joan'," she continued. "That's my name," she smiled as she stopped at the staircase, noticing something on the board. "Have you seen this, John?" she asked, looking at the flyer. "The Annual Dance at the Village Hall tomorrow. It's nothing formal, but a lot of fun, on all accounts." There was a long pause between them as she looked at him expectantly as he looked at the parchment in wonder. He'd been too busy as of late to really consider going, but now she brought it up... maybe Marion would like to go… maybe? She did seem like someone who enjoyed dancing and balls and such like. "Do you think you'll go?" Joan asked, John not missing the nervousness in her voice.

"I… I hadn't really thought about it," John lied as he stared at the paper. Would Marion like to go? Or should he save himself the embarrassment or rejection? Well, he never knew unless he asked her. Had someone already asked her? He wouldn't be surprised.

"It's been ages since I've been to a dance, except no one's asked me," Joan laughed stiffly. She looked up at him again, only just then catching onto what she was implying. It was true that during the first month of working at Farringham he'd been watching Nurse Redfurn in a special light. She was physically attractive, that for certain. She was courteous, polite, brave and over all, a fantastic woman. But with Marion... it was just different. The light had shifted from Nurse Redfurn to Miss Tyler. She was beautiful, made him feel happy and her presence was just addicting to him. Feeling himself go beat red, he began to stutter. "Well… I… you… I never thought you'd be one for that," he stuttered as he began to walk backwards slowly. "I mean… I was- I suppose, thinking about asking… well, Marion, but-"

"John, the stairs," Joan said in urgency.

"What about the stairs?" he asked.

"They're right behind you!" she exclaimed, pointing earthwards, all too late. John felt himself fall, his head smashing against something hard as he continued down the wooden steps, Joan running down after him a few moments later.


	4. Chapter 4

John sat upon a small sturdy chair, Joan looking through his hair for the oh so painful injury he was complaining about as he gritted his teeth. He gave out a struggled groan as she brushed the tips of her middle and index finger across the invisible wound. "Stop it," she chastised as she continued her search, biting back a smirk. "I get boys causing less fuss than this."

"Because it hurts…" John countered through his locked jaw. A few moments later, the mahogany door burst open, Martha rushing in a she attempted to catch her breath. "Is he alright?" she asked the Matron as she looked at the young Maid.

"Excuse me, Martha," Joan started, clearly irritated and struck at the rudeness of the woman. "It's hardly good form to enter a master's study without knocking," she ended with a scowl.

Martha, showing her own annoyance, nodded. "Sorry. Right, yeah," she muttered quickly walking back to the wooden door and knocking it, sending the Nurse a look that could kill. Making her way back over to the two, she looked down at John. "They said you fell down the stairs, Sir."

"No, it was just a tumble, that's all," John replied, hoping to save at least a small amount of pride he'd lost, being as the _whole _school knew about his little detour.

"Have you checked for concussion?" Martha asked the Nurse, giving her another unnatural look. True, the two women had never really gotten on the right foot to begin with and they hardly ever agreed on something. Not like Martha could really answer or battle with something the Matron had said anyway, unless she temporarily forgot her place like she had at that present moment. That was one thing Martha despised about modern women; they were too stuck up and too stern for their own good. "I have," Joan replied, slightly angry. "And I daresay I know a lot more about it than you."

Remembering her place again, Martha nodded shyly as she looked back down at her master. "Sorry. I'll just..." she turned and looked around the room. "Tidy your things." Turning around fully, she walked to John's desk, immediately tidying whatever papers he had no time to place correctly himself.

"I was just telling Matron about my dreams," John piped up, hoping to get off the subject of his Maid's rudeness and trying to ignore the wince Joan gave when he called her 'Matron'. "They are quite remarkable tales," he trailed off, thinking about his previous dream about his fictional alter ego; the Doctor. "I keep imagining that I'm someone else, and that I'm hiding-"

"Hiding?" Joan interjected. "In what way?"

"Well… almost every night..." he shook his head and laughed stiffly, looking down at his journal. "This is going to sound silly."

"Tell me," Joan encouraged as she looked down at him curiously.

Sighing slightly, he began again_. _"I dream, quite often, that I have two hearts," he admitted embarrassedly.

"Well then, I can be the judge of that," Joan said as she smiled. She took out a stethoscope out of an old, worn doctor's bag, placing the buds in her ears as she places the cold end to John's chest, listening intently. Moving the stethoscope to the right side of the torso, she smiled again softly. "I can confirm the diagnosis- just one heart, singular," she said, putting the stethoscope away again.

"I have written down some of these dreams in the form of fiction," he informed her, looking around for the book as he wondered whether or not he'd written down last nights dream.

"I'd be very interested," Joan replied hopefully as she watched him search. Letting his amazement die down quickly, he found the journal on the desk. He hadn't expected anyone to actually find interest in his strange visions. In the end, that's all they were, and for someone to say they'd like to read about them made him extremely giddy. Handing the leather bound book shyly to her, she read the neat handwriting on the front. "'Journal of Impossible Things.'" Turning the page over, she instantly became intrigued by the ink drawing that greeted her. Page after page, she gasped in wonder at different drawings that stuck out to her. Quickly, she began to find how amazing his imagination was, as were his artistic skills. "It's become quite a hobby," John explained when she continued flipping through the endless pages, smiling at each.

"It's wonderful," she mumbled as she turned over the next page, her smile fading slightly. "And quite an eye for the pretty girls," she added as he peered over her shoulder at the drawing, one that looked nearly identical to Miss Marion Tyler.

"Oh no," he stuttered as he quickly looked over the page. "She's just an invention. This character, Rose, I call her, Rose." John looked up to see Martha watching him closely before she quickly looked back down, himself giving her an odd look. Peering back down at the picture, he added quietly, " She seems to disappear later on."

"She looks an awful like Miss Tyler," Joan commented as she turned the page, John noticing Martha's sudden still movements as her head flashed up as she looked over to them again, frowning. Ignoring her, John continued to look through his drawings with Nurse Redfern, herself turning to a page with a big, blue box on it. "Ah, that's the box, the blue box, it's always there," John pointed, the singing and wheezing it always made whirling through his mind. "Like a...like a magic carpet, this funny little box that transports me to far away places."

"Like a doorway?" Joan suggested. John nodded in reply as she continued searching through the book. There was a small, soft knock that echoed through the room, the three looking up. Marion stood shyly at the door, John's face brightening in her presence. Her worried expression soon disappeared, replaced with a relieved one. Realising she was standing in the middle of an old doorway, doing nothing but simply staring at John and Joan, she began to stutter. "Th- they said you had a trip down the stairs, Sir," she explained vaguely. "Just wondering if you were alight, is all." Noticing the look the three gave her, Joan's slightly more darker than the others. "It's difficult to get books returned from a dead man."

Seeing straight through the young woman's lie, Joan shut the book sharply, her features becoming softer as she looked up at the professor. "If you don't mind, John, I'd like to these drawings in detail. In my own time," she said questioningly, holding up the book. Looking back down at the Matron, he nodded his head hesitantly. "Yes, yes, of course."

Taking her bag after placing the stethoscope inside, she took the leather journal, keeping it securely in her hand and marched out of the study, a lot less happier than she had been when she first went in. After taking a curtsy, Martha followed her out, calling her name as she hurried, leaving John and Marion staring at one another. There was a long, awkward silence, Marion looking down at her fidgeting hands as John looked at her fondly, contemplating whether or not he should ask her to the Village Dance, her face becoming adorably red very hastily.

Clearing her throat, Marion looked up. "So," she croaked. "When will I be getting those books back?" she gestured to the messy pile of Shakespeare poetry books and a story on Macbeth.

Smiling softly, her chuckled. "Tomorrow morning, as I said," he retorted as she shook her head at her memory. Smiling more brightly, he strode over to her, taking her soft, warm hand in one of his, bringing it up to his lips. Placing a kiss on the back of her hand, he looked up at her happily, standing up straight again. "Thank you for your concern, Marion," he said simply.

Quickly recovering from her temporal shock, she returned his smile. "No thanks needed," she replied, giving him a gentle goodbye as she turned around and walked down the hallway, throwing backward glances over her shoulder to see he was watching her leave. John decided right there and then, he had completely and utterly fallen in love with Marion Tyler, and he was going to ask he to the Village Dance the next time their paths collided.


	5. Chapter 5

Marion thrashed around in her stiff, uncomfortable bed like a feral animal, the small amount of light streaming through the curtains as she groaned painfully. Marion was never one to have nightmares often, but even since she had arrived at Farringham, she'd been getting them frequently, the next always worst than the last.

Waking up suddenly, she subconsciously flew into a up right position, leaning back on her hands as she looked around the room frantically. Finding she was back in the safety of her small, dimly lit quarters, she gave a sigh of relief. _Stupid dreams... _she thought bitterly as she threw the covers off, her bare feet hitting the cold ground. _Nightmares_ she corrected herself. Shaking her head, she tip toed toward the curtains, drawing them back fully, the light eliminating her.

_The light eliminated her, her and the people behind; her team. The spotlight moved so it was directly on top of the small party of four, waiting for them to make their next move. "Rose, get down!" called a deep, male voice, not able to do as the man said as she was thrown to the ground, her arms instinctively going to her head for protection as a load gunshot flew through the dark, barren wasteland._

Marion looked away from the window as the awful part of the nightmare replayed in her mind. That was one of the many reasons she hated sleeping. Her subconscious was always plagued with these horrifying images, telling a story each time. Only this time, names were spoken.

_A large man walked through a small, metal like cabin, a large knife in his hands as four men guarded the doors, guns at the ready. Two people were stuff to metal chairs, tied to the gritty legs, which was painfully cold against the woman's skin, her hair knotted, mangled and red ever since they were captured. Her partner, a dark skinned young man, was more or less in the same predicament. The man circled them, brandishing the knife until he turned to the young man sitting calmly in the chair. "I will only ask you this one more time," he said with a thick accent, placing the sharp, cold edge of the object to the man throat. "Who do you work for?"_

_The woman struggled against her bonds, gritting her teeth as the young man eyed his tormentor. "Don't tell him, Mickey!" she exclaimed, receiving a hard slap across the face from one of the armed guards._

_The man turned to her, a strange, creepy smile plastered on his face. He turned to her fully, fingering the knife. Slowly, he placed the knife to her cheek, the tip on the blade cutting deeply into her skin. "I will ask once more," he began, thrusting the blade down the woman's neck, a great howl emitting from her lips as the blade retreated from her flesh, the blood already beginning to flow. "Who do you work for?"_

Marion gently traced the ugly, red scar running down from her cheek to her neck, grimacing at the sudden shock of pain. Her nightmares were always so vivid and detailed that she didn't really gave a choice but wince at the fading presence of the edge of the knife.

She sat down on the messy bed as she bit her fingernails. This had been the last straw; this was where she'd snapped. She _needed _to talk to someone about these terrifying visions. And she knew just the person. Mister Smith was the only person who would understand, she repeated to herself as she dressed. True, her growing affection for the man most defiantly had some sort of influence on that remark, but she knew it was true. No one else in the school would even looked twice if she mention anything about dreams, but she felt that Mister Smith would.

* * *

Marion walked across the school's courtyard, watching quietly as many of the young boys fired at nearby dummies set up in the middle of the large, green field. Mister Smith was stood not too far away from them, instructing them what to do and to concentrate. Marion gave a sigh. She knew the man didn't like guns whatsoever, yet he was the one she always saw teaching the boys how to use them.

A few moments later, four of the young 'men' were dragging young Tim Latimer, a kind, polite boy who always willingly gave her a hand in the Library when ever she asked. What did he do to ever deserve a _beating _from his class mates? The very thought made Marion angry, especially with her own troubled thoughts of violence and pain. As she was staring idly over at the small lesson, all the while remembering the edge of the long, cold knife sliding down her sweaty skin, she vaguely noticed Mister Smith looking over to her, smiling. He dismissed his class, walking over to her immediately. "Marion," he greeted happily, his mood depleting when here sad expression stayed the same. "Is everything alright?" he asked.

Marion continued to stare at him for a long while, his own features becoming more concerned when she didn't answer. "I..." she started, stopping suddenly. "I just need someone to talk to. Sorry," she said, walking away quickly, bumping into the Matron as she felt John's eyes follow her through the courtyard, only leaving when Joan addressed him.

* * *

Marion and John walked into a small village lane, a man riding a tricycle passing right by them as Marion explained her vivid dreams to the professor as he listened intently, raising his dark hat in greeting at the passers. Marion wrapped her arms around herself as she spoke shakily, nearly hesitantly. "They're not just dreams, though," she started in an insistent tone. "They're memories, I know they are. They feel too... real to be just dreams." They walked into the village square, a small boy chucking a worn cricket ball up in the air repeatedly in boredom as he watched two men attempt to lift a piano into the air. "I was part of this... organisation, I think. Torchtree or something, I don't know," she trailed off, knowing the name wasn't correct but couldn't place her finger on the correct title. "I was able to put up with the nightmares 'till las' night. I remembered how I got this," she gestured her cheek, the long, white, puffy tissue sticking up. "It was so horrible, John. They were part of some military or something."

John walked quietly next to her, muttering, "You're angry at the army," he said as they walked. Marion nodded her head shamefully. "I remember being trained in every single way to fight, and I suppose I am angry that these boys have to do the same. If there's a war, I don't think they will find it very funny." Marion gave a sigh as they continued to walk through the small patch on green grass. Images of intense, muscle popping training ran through her mind, an instructor shouting at her to keep going even when she stumbled weakly in the wet mud. "Can I tell you something?" she asked quietly, John encouraging her on. "I think I remember fighting in a war," she admitted. "More than one, actually. It must sound strange to you, hearing this from a woman," she chuckled to herself, shaking her head. "Of course he'd find it strange.

John nodded mutely as he watched her. It was true - listening to this young woman claim she'd been in conflict was very difficult to hear. Women were not made to do that sort of work, or any work that involved death, at that fact. Especially those linked to warfare and... _killing. _To think that his innocent Marion had taken a life was almost unthinkable. "Mankind doesn't need warfare and bloodshed to prove itself - everyday life can provide honour and valour and... let's hope that from now on this... this country can... can find its heroes in smaller places..." he began stuttering calmly, watching as the two men who were raising the piano high in the air began to pant and stumble slightly, the rope becoming quickly worn as the middle began to snap. Not too far away, a woman- with a pram- began to walk along the same path the piano dangled dangerously over.

John, remembering the small boy beside them, grabbed the ball. He threw it in the general direction of the piano, the cracked sphere smashing loudly into a stack of silver poles. The ball fell clumsily to the ground, the poles following suit moments later. The poles came into hard contact with a large barrel, which in turn fell in front of the pram, stopping it instantly as the woman screamed in shock. The rope lifting the piano snapped, the heavy, black instrument falling to the ground, breaking into pieces at the sudden collision.

John stared at his heroics for a long few moment, Marion staring at _him. _"Lucky..." John stuttered as the woman began to comfort her crying infant, the two men rushing to her in apology and concern. John frowned inwardly. Where had _that _ come from? He rarely played ball and any kind of sport as a child- in all honestly, he wasn't exceptionally good at sports now, either. Where had the sudden skill and accuracy come from?

"That was luck?" Marion said in disbelief as she turned her attention back to the mother, who was now placing her baby back into the unharmed buggy.

Feeling the strange kick of adrenaline coursing through his entire body, John turned to Marion, breathing quickly. "Marion," John said suddenly, getting her attention. "Might I invite you to the village dance this evening?" he asked. She rose her eyebrows in the sudden boldness, a rosy blush appearing on her cheeks. "As my guest," he added quickly, the idea of asking her now not seeming such a good idea at the fire of adrenaline was reduced to mere sparks.

Marion watched him for a few seconds, amused. She gave a chuckle and nodded as he returned her smile with mirth. "Yeah," she replied. "Why not?" The two watched as the woman led her buggy back up the street, the men picking pieces of the piano back up, looking at each other in worry. John linked his arm with Marion's as the two walked back toward the school, John feeling as though a whole load had been lifted off his shoulders.

_**A.N: Sorry if this chapter seems a bit... meh. It's half term for me for the next week, my plans mostly consisting of writing. But then my teachers were like 'Bitch please' and gave me mountains of homework :P So sorry again**_


	6. Chapter 6

John and Marion slowly made their way back to his small, quite study,talking about everything and nothing as they skipped along, the day slowly becoming thick with grey clouds. Walking heavily towards his study to retrieve the books he had 'stolen', they passed the Headmaster as they went by arm in arm. Walking into the large school, they greeted Martha and Jenny kindly as they scrubbed the dirty wooden floors. Martha looked up quickly to greet her Master, a dark glint catching her eyes as she looked up at Marion. "Is everything alright, Martha?" John asked as Marion frowned at Martha's odd behaviour.

"Yes, Mister Smith," Martha nodded as she put her gaze to th floor again, scrubbing in earnest now as Jenny looked at her in a confused manor. The sudden action made Marion frown slightly in curiosity and hurtfulness. She couldn't quite understand the new light Martha was seeing her in. She didn't think she'd done anything to upset the young maid… did she? Maybe it was her new closeness with John? Shaking her head, she and Miser Smith continued up the stairs, Martha watching her again as she disappeared from view.

Marion and John rounded a sharp corner and stepped into his neat study. Taking off his coat and placing it on the nearby rack, he spotted his large collection of Shakespeare books hiding away in the corner. John took the pile and placed it on his desk, his cheeks running a deep red when Marion fingered the small black book that lay flat on his desk. 'The Journal of Impossible things', which the Matron had informed him was to be set back on his desk that afternoon, shone brightly as the light eliminated it, Marion looked down at it in wonder with a shy smile.

John gave a wide grin when she asked to look inside, nodding in earnest when she opened the first page, her eyes widening at the extreme detail of his drawings, followed by the scruffy notes that accompanied them. Secretly, John looked over her shoulder at what she witnessed, hoping very much she would stay interested until the first of many drawings of her caught her eye. He smiled at the thought, and waited as patiently as he could, like a small boy waiting to open a Christmas present.

"These are brilliant, John," Marion muttered in awe as she turned each page over, examining them with the utmost interest, looking over every little detail of each enemy of the 'Doctor'. She frowned at the name. She recognised it strongly and felt... happy when she first came across it. "Really, I've never seen anything like these," she continued. "Sod being a professor, an artist is more appropriate for your talent." She turned another few pages slowly, taking in every tiny little detail or a Dalek or Cyberman or whatever strange creature that showed itself from the man's imagination. She watched in wonder as she looked down at every page, stopping at one that caught her eye immediately.

John felt his heartbeat quicken as she stopped on a page that clearly showed a sketch of herself, much of her hair covering her face. She felt herself blush as she took it in, blushing even further when she saw how beautiful she looked. "You sure I look like that?" she joked as she handed him the book.

"Most defiantly," he smiled broadly, a small redness rushing to his cheeks as she looked down shyly.

Marion shook her head slightly, an itch rushing to her cheek, reminding her of the ugly scar that ran across her face. Suddenly feeling self-conscious and... _ashamed_, she looked sadly down at the page. "You've made me way too beautiful, I reckon," she said quietly, rubbing her cheek.

Noticing her stiffness, her took her hand away gently, cupping her cheek with his hand and rubbing the edge of the white tissue. "But that's how I see you," he said honestly, finding it increasingly hard to breathe as her eyes snapped up to meet his. Again, she shook her head, more sharply this time as her eyes became more watery. "Women as... scarred as me aren't meant to be beautiful..." she chocked. She emitted a silent gasp as he leant down, brushing his lips with the long, white scar, lingering there for a few brief second. Pulling away slightly, he looked her square in the eyes, as if asking permission.

Slowly, he leant down to Marion's lips, pressing his gently against hers as her breathing increased dramatically. He thumbed her cheek again, pulling away. Opening his eyes slightly, he noticed her cheeks that had grown beat red under his palm. "I've... never..." he stuttered breathlessly. Watching her carefully, he leaned in again, kissing her more firmly this time, but still kept the loving tenderness of his soft lips.

The two stayed like that for a good long while, their mouths moving slowly in sync as Marion brought a hand into his hair as the other wrapped around his shoulder. John, not knowing quite what to do with his own clammy palms, placed them around her middle as he felt the adrenaline rush through his body.

All too soon, the couple broke apart hastily at the rustling of the door handle, Martha bursting in just as the two stepped back. "Martha, what have I told you about entering unannounced?" John fumed as Martha stopped at the sight of them. Her mouth dropped open for a short moment, her expression turning from shook to pain as she eyes the both of them, scurrying out a mere few moments later.

The 'bang!' of the door echoed through the room, leaving the remaining two in a very awkward silence. Marion had her back to him as she looked toward the window, touching her tingling lips every few seconds whilst grinning to herself, John looking down to the fallen journal, which he had dropped when Martha came in. Placing the book back on the desk, he cleared his throat, what he always did when he was about to talk. Marion turned on her heel, watching him expectantly. He fidgeted with his hands for a few seconds before breaking the silence. "Marion..." he stuttered. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"You regret it?" Marion cut him off, a hurt and worried expression sketched across her face, replacing the delight and happiness. John didn't seen like the sort of man to kiss and forget.

"No!" John exclaimed, taking a step toward her. "Not at all," he added. Marion gave a sigh of relief, a smile returning to her lips. With extreme shyness, she extended her hands, quickly lacing it with his, himself giving a comforting squeeze. "Good," she said, looking back up at him as she marvelled at how their hands fitted perfectly together; like a puzzle. "Because neither do I," she continued. Reaching up with her free hand, she placed her twitching fingers on the side of his neck, going on her tip toes to plant an innocent, long kiss on his cheek. "See you tonight, John," she promised, stepping down and walking out through the door, leaving the poor man and his jelly like legs to find refuge in a chair, the large pile of Shakespeare books laying quietly on his desk.

_**A.N: Is it even worth apologizing for the time it took me to write this chapter? Even if it isn't, I am truly sorry. I'm coming up to the final month of my high school life, so I have plenty of revision to do for my exams, so that's taking up much of my time. Also, I've been shitting bricks because I applied for collage not too long ago and just received the letter for my interview. Needless to say, I'm nervous. So again, so very sorry.**_

_**Also, as I've come back to this story, I've found that writing it isn't as much fun as it was when I left it off. The concept isn't as exciting for me anymore. I still love the idea of Rose returning some time in season 3/4, so I'll be continuing with the story, just not this arch. Next chapter, which I hope to be uploading in a few days, will contain a summery of what happened in the ball/party, whatever it's called, and it will also have the quick ending of this arch. Sorry for those who wanted to story in detail, I just want to get this one out of the way now. **_

_**But for the next bit I'll be doing Rose in the silence of the Library (oneshot), hen I'll be doing another one of Blink (also a oneshot), but requests are good and are always taken. Thanks for sticking with me at this point, guys. I love you :)**_


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